


A Safer Star

by Major_Vaska



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Casteism | Hemophobia (Homestuck), Culture Shock, Extraterrestrial Emo, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Multi, Not Really a Swap but No Earth C, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Post-War, Soda Abuse/Sodaism, Very Epilogue/Homestuck 2 Inspired, intergalactic politics, planet swap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21987526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Major_Vaska/pseuds/Major_Vaska
Summary: I fucked up a perfectly good timeline, is what I did.
Relationships: Swifer Eggmop/Cliper Borden, Tavros Crocker/Vrissy/Harry Anderson Egbert
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

12th Perigee of the of the 6th Dark Season

82,519th Sweep of Her Imperious Condescension’s reign

The outer planets of the system were claimed easily. They were not habitable by the natives of this tiny corner of the galaxy, and could be colonized as easily as reaching out to pick a ripe, nectar-filled fruit. Ice cold rock and toxic air were not deterrents to the technologically advanced Alternian settlers, at least not once a few hundred expendable psionics were set to work at terraforming and purifying the atmosphere. Freshwater and saltwater estuaries were established, kept separate from the ammonia oceans by their heat. Underground cities were established in the ice, tunnels through icebergs the size of continents. These minor planetary holdings would serve as a base of operations for the Alternian forces as they pressed forward to the true gem of the system.

The gas giants were negligible; not even trolls could make them habitable or extract resources from them. Three space stations were set in orbit, two sprawling metallic beasts around the outermost planet and a smaller, cloaked vessel around the inner world.

And then was the belt. The main belt of the system represented the outer reaches of it’s native’s sphere of influence. Research vessels left for further abroad from time to time, but the last human colony was located somewhere among the asteroids. This proved a major strategic advantage during the ensuing slaughter; although the objects were widely spaced and the majority of them quite small, there was still too much clutter on the observation base around Uranus for the human defenders to get an accurate read on the troll's location.

The humans had established four mining operations in the belt, the most important of which was located on Ceres. The difficult part was finding Ceres, especially with, as they say, a gun behind every hunk of galactic detritus. It took four wipes to finally locate and eradicate the Ceres operation. The rare metals were transported back to the edge of the territory for processing and shipment.

The conquest of the asteroid belt brought new challenges for the Alternian invaders, first and foremost the surprising advancement of human technology. They had both fetch modi and strife specibi, as well as holtzman shields that discouraged the use of light-based weaponry, and further examination of their structures revealed transportalizers and even primitive cloning technology. But more importantly, they had Dirk fucking Strider.

The man was a terror to behold. For four wipes he had carried out stealth assassinations aboard nearly any vessel that managed to get into the inner reaches of the main belt, and during the Stand on Ceres it’s said that he was able to single handedly slaughterize twenty ruffiannhilators, making his escape on a personal spacecraft moments before the planetoid’s detonation. There was no name better known in the Terran Territories, inside or outside the main belt. Even against this monster of a man, the trolls pushed on, towards the inner planets.

The War on Mars was complicated by a variety of non-Dirk factors; the revolution in the Second Expanse had picked up steam again, diverting the military resources away from the new system, including both trollpower and psionic batteries. Her Imperious Condescension herself was currently occupied with the personal infiltration and subversion of an anomalous system nearly 700 lightsweeps away, and several major indigo and purple generals froze to death on Neptune during a brief failure of the interior heating systems.

An expendable rustblood legion was mobilized, sweeping across the martian landscape and destroying anything in its path. The rusties were to prioritize sabotage over combat, and slowly the vital systems of the terraformed Mars were rendered inoperable, leading to the mass evacuations and a dramatic decrease in human military presence. As the legion marched along its trail of blood, a flaysquad was prepared specifically to deal with Dirk Strider.

No one mentioned there were two of them, though. The thresecutioner flaysquad descended on Mawrth Vallis, prepared to defeat one of the greatest enemies the empire had known in centuries. They finally found Dirk at his cabin, a quaint little wooden number surrounded by cut sheet metal and pretty little flowerbeds. He was having a beer with the up-and-coming young director, Dave Strider. Dirk excused himself to grab another drink as Dave calmly got up and retrieved his weapon from his specibus.

Meanwhile, the rustblood legion was finally being worn down from constant combat and travelling, slowly being picked off by the human military. Reclamation missions were sent into the asteroid belt, the few small Alternian bases within it being purged by human forces. If the Stand on Ceres had been a Pyrrhic victory for Alternia, the War on Mars was an abject failure. With that in mind, the trolls did what trolls always did in cases of apparent martial defeat: thermonuclear genocide.

A nuclear warhead was launched towards New Pompeii, Mars’s primary trade center, largest city, and de facto capital. The abrupt destruction of New Pompeii would lead to disruption of the entire human economy, as well as long-lasting environmental effects on the already ecologically unstable terraformed Mars. If the missile were to be intercepted and detonated in the sky, it would punch a hole straight through Mars’s frail atmosphere and render the whole planet unsuitable for life. Nothing could go wrong, except for Dirk. Fucking. Strider.

To this day, no one knows how he managed it. Some say they saw him take a strong, elegant leap into the air and straddled the bomb like a lover, while others say he flew his personal spacecraft up and ditched it like he was playing chicken with a semi and about to lose. Regardless, he split that bomb without it ever detonating, the two halves falling uselessly on either side of New Pompeii. Mars was lost.

The main belt was reclaimed by human forces in its entirety. The space station in orbit around Jupiter remained defensible for a few weeks, but was ultimately bombed to space dust. For the first time in millenia, Alternia had lost a war. The inner solar system would not be conquered. The new priority of the Alternian presence in the Terran System would be the defense of it’s holdings in the outer solar system and the reconfiguration of Neptune and Pluto for permanent inhabitance. An unfamiliar practice began among the Alternian settlers, the formation of peace, rather than war, in order to secure rights to the mining of asteroids in the main belt of the system.

Earth, 2429

A mansion in Quebec stands mostly empty. Mark Crocker’s father was on one of his “adventures” in the Pacific Islands again, his mother working late nights for the third week straight in some office in America. While she takes care of all the work maintaining the extensive Crocker Corp. brand, it fell to Mark to see to the extensive piles of paperwork his father left behind in their Umbral holdings.

It isn’t particularly easy work, especially since his dad has the bad habit of giving free personal spacecraft to whatever charming young man happens to have that aristocratic air Jake practically fetishizes. It worked out during the Earth-Alternia war and brought Umbral a fair amount of good press, but the lavish gifts and frivolous spending creates a hell of a budgeting nightmare and some questionable legal territory.

Mark leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes. Why couldn’t he have the kind of carefree, playboy lifestyle rich kids are supposed to? All he got was a mother that swung between micromanagement of the household and complete absence, and a father that fell on a spectrum of bumbling incompetence and complete absence. Hell, Roxy was technically their employee and her kids got to go to fancy parties and enjoy the company of pretty girls and write famous novels and all that jazz.

Well, enough is enough! No one is around to judge him or force him to take on his dad’s workload, they’re all too busy with their own egos in distant locals. Mark makes a call.

“Hello, thank you for calling Umbral Corporation’s main office, how may I help you?”  
“Uh, hi?”  
“Hello! What can I do for you today?”  
“This is Mark Crocker. Jake’s son? Can you patch me through to Arthur?”  
“Um, excuse me one moment.”  
“If you can’t that’s okay! I’m sure my dad has his number laying around here somewhere and if it’s an issue I can-”

A catchy chiptune song starts playing loudly in Mark’s ear. He’s on hold for an awful long time before the music cuts off.

“Arthur Brinner. That really you, Mark?”  
“Uh, hi, yes, hello.”  
“Hey! What can I do for you?”  
“Yes, uh, well, I was wondering who my father usually has pick up his slack when he goes on one of his excursions, on one of his adventures, as it were?”

There’s silence on the other end for a beat. Mark faintly hears something shifting.

“Er, well, Mr. Crocker, that would be you. Usually, that is.”  
“Oh, uh, well, I was actually going to be going on a trip this week, actually, but I need to to make sure everything is taken care of, you know, work wise.”  
“You? You’re going on a trip? To do things?”  
“Um, yes, that is what I was planning to do, if it’s not an issue.”

Nothing. It sounds like a small tornado was going through Mark’s paperwork. He was acting like this had never happened before, quite frankly because it never has. Finally, Arthur speaks again.

“If you could send me everything you have that needs doing, I can sort it out and send it where it needs to go. Would you be able to get to a fax machine if we need a signature?”  
“Yes, yes, I should be able to do that, no problem!”  
“Alright then. You get that for me and take care, Mark.”  
“Yes, thank you, goodbye.”

Arthur hangs up first. Mark lets out a heavy sigh, a bundle of tension escaping with his breath. That was…. Uncharacteristically impulsive. Part of him feels like he’s expecting his mom to yell at him, but the other part is looking forward to having free time for once.

Maybe he’ll visit Mars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Mark Crocker is Tavros Crocker. In the absence of Tavros in Jane and Jake's lives, they instead named their child after another influential figure in Homestuck's story: Colonel Sassacre, also known as Mark Twain, also known as Samuel L. Clemens (also did you know Mark Twain was born in a place called Florida, Missouri? Weird).


	2. Chapter 2

**Loading**

****

Gamer Tips!

All Janes tend to be entitled and controlling, but with good influences they can become excellent friends and allies!


	3. Chapter 3

The journey from one star to the next took a whole wipe, even on a vessel that can surpass the speed of light. Eventually, however, Vriska Serket found herself in the airlock, being suited up and escorted out. The indigoblood explained to her how to properly adjust the unitard for maximum coverage and a comfortable fit, explaining that the garment provided its own temperature control, but even so, Vriska would have about 25 seconds to get inside before frostbite began to set in.

An air horn sounded, marking the beginning of the mad, 15 foot dash from the open door of the conscript transport vessel into the open maw of Neptune’s outpost. To minimize the possibility of rapid onset cold stress, the conscripts were arranged in hemospectrum order, with highbloods at the front. First the two purples ran, then the sole indigo, a much older troll than any of the recently exiled wigglers, and then it was Vriska’s turn.

She fucking booked it. It was a sprint, not a marathon, and she had been training for this moment for exactly 0 seconds of her life, but she made the short run with 15 seconds to spare. As she made her way deeper into the Alternian base, she risked a glance over her shoulder, seeing a tealblood followed by a couple of jades, but unable to make out the other lowbloods.

The blast of cold followed by the rush of heat was exhilarating. Vriska didn’t even realize such intense cold even existed, and relished the heady rush of endorphins her body used to thank her for reaching the heated interior of the outpost so quickly. 

She found herself in a common room with trolls still bolting in behind her. The lights were dim, provided primarily by a few weak bulbs 15 feet over their heads, with nice, plush chairs littered here or there. A surly olive guarded the door to the deeper parts of the base, and the elder indigo was chatting her up. Eventually, he was allowed to pass.

Vriska took note of several portraits of the empress and a few violet admirals before turning her attention to her fellow trolls. The majority were wearing the same black military catsuits she was, corded designs in their blood color covering them. The trolls, in general, seemed to be those who would’ve been culled if they went elsewhere; voidrotted and blind, mutated and deformed was the order of the day on Neptune. Vriska may have very well been the only normal one.

A public address system crackled to life with and unholy banshee shriek. The collected trolls heard the sound of the dying universe, the rending of their very reality, the decay of God himself. A speaker exploded, raining sparks on some poor rusties. The lights flickered. And then there was calm.

Tap. Tap. Tap. “Hullo, hullo?” a voice resounded clearly over the surviving speakers. A goldblood softly squeaked out a “hello” in response. A hearty laugh boomed out from the speakers. “Hu huh hu,” the voice said, in a warm and menacing way, “I hope that blisterin’ cold didn’t bother ye too much. I’d like ta extend a personal welcome to Neptune-004, the heart o’ the Terran Territory. As I’m sure ye know full well, this little operation is a tad different ta the normal experience ye’d get from conscription. We’re playin a numbers game here, lads, so somma ye’s got a free pass for ye nasty mutations. But don’t go havin’ any treasonous dreams, our courtblock is fully functionin’. For those o’ ye who applied for Terran duty without a whit of readin’, on account o’ ye own safety, allow me ta explain that yer in the capital o’ this planet, and that I’m Tarnee Lughus, so I’ll be providin’ ye with subjugglation services. Ye’ll find a pamphlet informin’ ye o’ life on this base on that desk right o’er there. Once yer done minglin’ and gatherin’ yer paperwork, the lowblood quarters will be ta the right, and the highblood quarters ta the left, and ye’ll find yer personal block in yer division’s section. Work starts on the morrow, have a good night, lads.” The speaker fizzled into silence. A murmur started up among the young trolls as few began making their way to collect their pamphlets.

Vriska shoved her way to the front of the line, past some seriously ugly goldblood with weird, colorless eyes. She completely ignored the requests for her to back off until she was at the front with her pamphlet, and then took off towards the highblood quarters to see her new block.

She turned right and went down a long, lifeless metal hallway. Heavy steel automatic doors let her pass, and she found herself in a hexagonal room with a door in front of her and two doors on either side. One was labelled “COURTBLOCK” and the other “PARLIAMADNESS”. The door on the furthest wall was clearly an elevator. She passed through the vast, open space towards her goal. “The quarters must be on a higher floor,” she thought, “and I will press every button until I find them.” Unfortunately, there was only one (functioning) button in the elevator, making the whole base seem much smaller than one would assume.

A weirdly intense chiptune song came up as Vriska ascended in the elevator. The next floor must have been considerably far, as it took her nearly 3 minutes to hear that distinctive “ding”. The doors opened, revealing another hexagonal room, with high walls of glass. Vriska could see the expanse of Neptune’s frozen waste through the panes, towering obelisks of blue ice and an ocean of green-blue liquid with a thick, frozen slurry sitting on top of it. She shivered as if the cold could reach her in here, purely from instinct. Roughly in the center of this room, the aged indigoblood was speaking with well-put together clown in a vest and black trousers.

The towering purpleblood hurried over to her as soon as she emerged.   
“Well, what ‘ave we here,” he said all sing-song, extending a massive hand in her direction, “I love ta get me hands on the fresh meat.” Vriska took his hand and hesitantly shook it.  
“I guess you’re Mr. Lughus?”  
“Hu hu hu,” Tarnee laughed that deep, rumbling laugh again, “aye, that’d be me.” Slowly, more young trolls began to filter in and Tarnee gave a big wave to each.  
“So what’d be ye name, then,” he asked.  
“Vriska Serket, sir.”  
“I see ye got yer manners about ye. The cobalts always gave us trouble, good ta ‘ave a well-behaved lass instead o’ the usual riff raff.”  
“Well, I can’t exactly get into much trouble if I don’t trick you into trusting me first.”  
Tarnee lost his shit, to put it lightly. His voice was almost powerful enough to shake the entire base. Vriska was worried he just might explode. She saw a couple younger clowns, one extremely hesitant and seemingly having a serious conversation with the other. The shorter, more well-composed purple was apparently trying to convince his anxious companion to approach Lughus, and eventually, the lanky boy did just that.

“Excusez moi, My Most High Subjugglator.” The boy was almost trembling. Tarnee wiped a tear from his eye and bent over to look the young clown in his face.  
“Aye, what’ll it be, little brother o’ mine?”  
“This avant-poste wouldn’t happen to have services for monodualists would it?”  
There was silence for a half a second, and then Lughus’s hand was around the young clown’s throat. The boy was sent hurtling across the room, into the glass walls with a loud, meaty thud. His horn and his body bounced away in two different directions. Shakily, he tried to get to his feet, but Lughus had already reached him with his long, energetic stride. The indigoblood laughed.  
“Ho ho ho,” said the indigo, “youngsters ask the silliest questions sometimes.”  
Vriska’s heart pumped a little faster. She had never seen such exciting brutality before, at least not since her lusus passed. She nodded.  
Lughus had grabbed the youngster’s face and was now slamming his head against the glass over and over again. A few passerby stopped to watch or cheer him on, but most hurried into their respective wards to find their blocks without looking up at the carnage. Once Lughus got tired of bashing the poor kid’s face in, he let the clown drop and proceeded to kick and stomp on him, each blow breaking a new bone with a wet crunch. Finally, Lughus calmed down and grabbed the boy by the remaining horn, shaking him violently back to consciousness, his limp body wobbling like a length of string dangled in front of a purrbeast.  
“Ye alive, ye lil shiet? Good, now I’m only gonna tell ye this once. Ye better git yer arse in line, coz if I ever hear that kind o’ blasphemy again with me own two ears, I’ll have ye laid on the altar and tear yer head right off yer shoulders, ye understand?”  
The troll made no sound except a low, pained moan, accentuated by the noise of thick purple blood dripping onto the metal floor. Tarnee finally dropped the kid onto the ground, letting him fold onto himself like a lifeless doll. His buddy hurried over and began to drag him towards the respiteblocks, and it was the sudden, gentle touch that reminded the troll of just how much pain he was in, causing an anguished scream to ring out through the halls of the base. Vriska finally tore her eyes away, actually feeling a little sick from the brutality of the display. Lughus passed by the two bluebloods, not making eye contact, and told them, “I’m ‘fraid I’m in a bit of a foul mood after all that. I think I’ll be retirin’ early. Good night, lass, good night, Senator.”

The indigoblood extended his hand to Vriska, saying, “Well, that was all good and exciting, wasn’t it? The High Subjuggulator Lughus is well-known for being very firm in his correction.”  
Vriska shook the man’s hand. God, was he trying to crush her bones? “Yeah, I can see that,” she said, “but don’t you think that was a little excessive? What even is a mono duelist or whatever?”  
The older troll shrugged, “Oh, I don’t know, I can hardly keep up with the clown politics. Senator Motter Ataxia, by the way.”  
Senator Ataxia smiled at her. It was a warm smile, even if it felt a little forced. The lines on his face indicated someone who had spent many years forcing smiles. Vriska was taken aback by one thing, however. “Why the hell did they send a Senator out to a reject planet in the middle of nowhere?” she asked.  
Motter kept that same grin. “Diplomacy.”  
“What the hell is a diplomacy?”  
Motter’s smile faltered for half a second. “It’s when, er, hm. How should I put this. I believe- I mean, this is what I was told, that is, when I was first starting in politics, that diplomacy is a sort of conciliation used to keep two political parties, well, not parties in the political sense, but two political entities from killing each other in a mutually destructive war.”  
Vriska wasn’t stupid. She could tell he had no idea what he was talking about, but she also knew better than to push her luck by questioning and prying where trolls who can tear metal apart with their bare hands were involved. This was a situation that called for a bit more flattery.  
“Oh, woooooooow,” she swooned, “that sounds incredibly important and fascinating.”  
Motter’s smile broadened and he took a moment to fix his tie. “Yes, it’s a valuable service we politicians provide to the empire, no one doubts that.”  
Vriska decided to push her luck a little further, to see if she can make friends in high places. “You know,” she begins, “I’ve considered a career in politics, but I decided to go into media instead, seeing as I had no one to inform me about like, caucuses and shit. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who could show me the ropes?”  
A bead of sweat formed on Motter’s forehead. “Ho ho ho, you have quite a way to go before you learn the ins and outs of alternian politics.”  
“Oh, but Senator Ataxia, with such a level head and keen observation you must have caught on very quickly. I can tell you’re one of the most intelligent trolls on this planet.”  
“Ho ho ho, yes, that’d be true.”  
“And with the experience of years behind you, you’re practically a fountain of knowledge. Wouldn’t it be a shame not to pass some of that on to the younger generation?”  
Motter completely freezes for a few seconds. If you looked closely at his eyes, you’d see a task manager behind his pupils, the panicked cursor we call “higher reason” desperately clicking “close program” on “Idiot.exe”. Finally, he smoothed some non-existent wrinkles out of his suit, cleared his throat, and said, “yes, well, I’ll think on it. I think it’d be best if we got settled in now. Good-bye, Miss Serket.”

Vriska leaned against the wall and gave him a small wave. It was easy enough to make him uncomfortably endeared to her, she just hoped he didn’t think she was trying to seduce him. She did lay the flattery on a little thick, but sometimes that’s how you have to talk to self-important political puppets. Vriska smirks to herself, a sucker hatched every brood. She follows the trail of clown blood into the Media Corps dorms.


	4. Chapter 4

LOADING

Gamer Tipz: Dealing with an abusive parent? Leave them for dead in the desert.

**Welcome to Neptune-004!**

Welcome, young trolls, to Neptune-004, the heart of the Terran Territory! As we’re sure you’re aware, this base represents a grand experiment for Alternia’s military history- here, we allow mutants and failures to come and live their life to the fullest as part of Alternia’s first reserve force in over 2,000 sweeps! The goal here is diplomacy- the making of peace, not war. I’m sure some of you will view this as a great dishonor, as you should, but we promise you: you’ll get over it. Due to this highly experimental and potentially misguided endeavor, the Alternian representative government on Neptune values quantity over quality!

**Who is allowed to live?**

The following categories are trolls who allowed to bypass culling or alternative services:

-Trolls with non-genetic disabilities   
-Trolls with atypical psychic powers

-Trolls with minor disabilities, such as partial blindness

-Trolls with non-genetic illnesses

-Trolls with small, easily hidden wings

-Jadebloods who oppose being cloistered

-Powerful psionics who oppose helming duties

-Psionics with voidrot

-Trolls with dead lusii

-Violetbloods with non-functioning gills

If you fall into any of these categories, welcome to the Alternian Reserves!

**Who is not permitted?**

The following trolls are not covered by the Terran Exclusion Act:

-Trolls with major genetic disabilities

-Trolls with disabilities that cannot be treated with cybernetics

-Trolls with blood coloration mutations (pale, dark, light, or undocumented blood)

-Trolls with obvious wings

-Non-violet trolls with gills and/or fins (“seadweller lowbloods”)

-Fuschiabloods (excluding Her Imperious Condescension)

-Clown church heretics

If you have any of these qualities, please report to your quarters supervisor for immediate culling!

**Our Neighbors, the Humans**

Humans are a strange species, with a curious mixture of pitiful and terrifying qualities. At first, they seem to be unsophisticated, soft cowards, with dull claws, no horns, and flat teeth. They have no biological disposition to hierarchy, and it is therefore a wonder that they managed to pull themselves out of the tribal phase of development at all. Their lifespans are short, approximately 40 sweeps, and they are less durable than even a rustblood. Psychic abilities are rare to non-existent, documented only in a few edge cases of dubious veracity.

However, all these weaknesses can be deceiving. Their lack of a genetic caste system makes them loose cannons, who can act unpredictably by disobeying orders or risking the lives of their higher ups on whim. Their bodies are perfectly adapted to persistence hunting, and they are capable of pursuing their prey for hours, if not days. They care for creatures similar to lusii, although instead of being treated as the beast’s inferior or loose equal, the human remains the unambiguous alpha of the situation, often over an entire pack of canine creatures of great size that could easily kill them. In the absence of romantic hate, they have no qualms about reacting violently to any individual they feel a strong hatred for, although an analysis of their communication system finds that many humans feel strong sexual attraction to anything sentient, and quite a few things that are not sentient at all.

While we are here to make peace, and the humans at first appear non-threatening, it is important to remember: they are awake at the times we sleep.

**A Guide**

To the east of the main hall are the lowblood quarters. These quarters are divided by Corps, namely Service, Agriculture, Production, Technicians, and Psionics. The lowblood quarters are divided into two sections, the upper section for technicians and psionics and the lower section, which covers a vast network of insulated ice-caves, for service, production and agriculture. The lowblood quarters can house a total of 6,000 trolls, but is unlikely to be at maximum capacity. Lowbloods will have their own blocks, unless the lowblood capacity of the base exceeds 3,000, at which point roommates will be assigned.

To the west of the main hall, you will find the courtblock of the base, as well as the parliamadness blocks. These blocks are both off-limits to lowbloods without specific authorization as part of their duties, or if the lowblood in question is to be present for a trial. This section of the base is collectively referred to as the Governance Partition.

Above the Governance Partition are the highblood quarters, which are again divided by Corps, namely Media, Government, Legal, Officers, and Supervision. The highblood quarters can house 600 trolls, and roommates will not be assigned, although they may be requested.

To the north of the main hall is the working district, by far the largest portion of the base. This is where the majority of work is done on the base, and is divided into 12 sections, each devoted to specific tasks such as food production, energy production, and propaganda production.

If your occupation does not fit in neatly with any of the Corps we have provided specific dorms for, contact the quartermaster for your caste and you will be assigned a block.

**For Our Purplebloods**

Neptune is an Orthohonks dominated planet. All ideological and theological disputes with Orthohonksy will be regarded as heresy.

Clown Church is reached by shuttle at Neptune-002. All Orthohonks clowns are expected to attend biwipely mass.

**Murder Policy**

It is regarded as a high crime to take part in unauthorized culling on Neptune. Honor killing is only permitted when the killed troll is of lower caste than the killer. A license must be obtained to kill members of one’s own caste. In the event of a murder, the perpetrator(s) is/are expected to clean up after themselves, as well as file a report including the sign of the deceased.

**Genetic Material Donations**

Due to the high content of undesirable material on Neptune, as well as the impetus to produce an atypically large reserve force, drones only collect genetic material once every two (2) sweeps. Notice of upcoming genetic material donations will be given two (2) wipes in advance. All trolls are required to participate in genetic material donation.


End file.
